


fuck, man, what else is there to say?

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Damn Bro. You Really Fucked Up, Insecurities, Mentions of past abuse, Other, Panic Attacks, Physical/Emotional Abuse, Poor baby :(, Sad, Self-Hatred, Trauma, Writing this made me sad, mentions of abuse, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tord really, really fucked up.And now, he’s alone.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	fuck, man, what else is there to say?

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is sad and has mentions of abuse and trauma so look out for that okay bye  
> also haha funny norwegian words

What is remorse?  
It’s that sinking feeling you felt in your stomach when you used to get in trouble as a kid. It’s the dread of having to face the people you hurt. The people you left behind. It’s the feeling of having to remember the mistakes you made, and the pain of knowing that you’re not going to be able to apologize for them, because what’s the point if you’ve done something so unforgivable it wouldn’t even matter if you said sorry at all?

At the moment, Tord was sinking deeper and deeper into that feeling, and there wasn’t any sign of stopping the pit of dread currently pooling in his stomach.

God, he really fucked up didn’t he?

The loud buzz of the artificial lights above him crackled in his ears as he buried his head deeper into the crook of his arm, hoping that the darkness would soothe the tsunami of emotions currently ravaging his brain. It didn’t. After a minute or two of silently scolding himself for the 80th time that night, Tord reluctantly sat up and grabbed at a random stack of papers. Maybe working would take his mind off of...things.

He was only two lines into his writing when a droplet of water stained the paper below him.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

He looked up at the ceiling, confused to see no leaks.

It wasn’t until he touched the left side of his face—the _functional_ side of his face—that he realized he was crying. And hard at that. He sunk down lower into his chair.

Fantastic. First, he ruins everything, next, he shows weakness by doing.. _this._ What next?

...How long had it been since he’d last cried, anyway?

It’s hard to keep track after around the third bottle of Smirnoff or so. Besides, the static in his brain was making it difficult to think of...anything.  
Anything except for them, of course. Tord looked over at the discarded bottle on his desk.

..Tom liked this stuff, didn’t he?

Another tear fell as he grabbed the bottle, the small amount of alcohol left in it splashing against the sides.

Yeah, yeah he did. He loved it more than anything. Except for Susan maybe. Or fighting T-

Tord’s thoughts were cut off as a tear rolled down the scarred side of his face, leaking into the slivers of disorganized flesh and burning the still-fresh scratches and cuts. He hissed through his teeth and carefully tried to wipe it away, small droplets of blood coating his prosthetic fingers. Well, the prototype at least. It’s hard to make a new arm when you’ve only been able to get used to having one for a week.

Tord sat in deep thought for a moment. What was the point of all of this, anyway? Why did he do any of this? What was it all for? Money? A sense of security? Happiness?  
...Power?  
Yeah, that was it, wasn’t it?  
Tord was always selfish like that. Always looking for more. Always _wanting_ more. Always fighting for more. But now, he couldn’t want anymore. He couldn’t look.  
He could only fight.  
He had flown so close to the sun he didn’t even notice that he had started falling.

His face fell as hot tears pricked at his eyes once more. Dammit, not again. He struggled to wipe them away, trying his best not to ruin the shitty useless medical eyepatch covering his shitty useless eye. He eventually gave up as he looked down at his ripped sleeve, dark wet splotches smeared across it. There’s no point in stopping them anymore, right? Why stop the tears if you deserve to feel this way? If you _should_ feel this way?  
_“You’re terrible,”_ a voice whispers in his head. Another voice pops up, and then another, and then another, until an entire crowd of voices is yelling at him. Belittling him.  
Telling him the truth.  


_“Worthless. Absolutely worthless.”_

_”You’re so weak.”_

_“Really? Crying again? Pathetic.”_

“Stop,” Tord mumbled out softly. “Stop, please—“ his voice cracked slightly as more tears rolled down his face, blurring his vision (or, what’s left of it at least). The voices continued.

_“What a stupid boy!”_

_”You’ll never amount to anything. You’re just a child.”_

_”What would your friends think?”_

Tord froze, a slight chill creeping down his spine.

_“What would your **father** think?”_

Suddenly, Tord was hit with a wave of regret, disgust, and everything in between. It started in the back of his neck and spread throughout the rest of his body, electrifying his nerves and leaving his hairs standing on end.  
He dropped the bottle, a loud crack filling the air.  
The feeling pooled into his brain, slowly dripping down into his lungs and drowning them in nothing but remorse. His vision became blurry as his breathing picked up, pupil dilating a bit. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly as more tears fell, subconsciously scratching at the side of his (real) forearm.  
“N-No— _No-_ ”  
His eyes snapped closed as he was suddenly pulled back into the memory, a familiar figure looming over his trembling and bruised body. It held a belt in one hand and a broken bottle in the other.  
“Verdiløs, verdiløs, _verdiløs!_ Det er det du er! Slutt å gråte! Se på meg! Du er patetisk!”  
The figure leaned down to a young Tord and yanked on his ear, emitting a loud whine from the boy.  
_“Hvis du ikke slutter å gråte, er det alt du er.”_  
Tord took in a sharp breath as he wrenched his eyes open once more, panic consuming his body. The world around him had become blurred and distorted as he sunk deeper and deeper into the feeling, his arm beginning to bleed as he dug his fingers farther into it.  
He had to calm down. He had to ground himself. He just didn’t know _how._  
He never knew how to deal with these things. He was never taught how. He was never cared for. Never loved.  
Except for when he was with..  
Oh.  
Tord bit his lip as more tears streamed down his face.  
Wow.  
He really did fuck up.  
As Tord sat in his office, terrified and alone, feeling his entire world crumble as alcohol and trauma flowed through his veins, he realized something.  
He’s never going to say sorry. He’s never going to apologize to the people he hurt. He’s going to have to live with this guilt forever.  
Besides, where would he even start?

**Author's Note:**

> bojack horseman + no ideas for a title = this :)  
> anyways im gonna go cry now  
> my favorite character is literally tord why do i do this to myselF


End file.
